Life is an Illusion, Beauty a Fading Flower

I turned my gas-powered water heater on, thinking to take a shower.  I left without taking that shower.  I don’t know if it will be waiting for me when I get back, but I guess I’ll just have to risk it.

And just like the next guy, I like to cry, woe is me.  Woe is me.  My life is so horrible, so heinously horrible than NO ONE would EVER want to be me.  But then I realized, Shit! That is not true.  I deserved everything I got.  I deserved those jail stays.  I deserved every day.  I deserved every second.  I deserved those hospital days.  I deserved every drug.  I deserved every rebuttal.  I deserved those uncompromising doctors.  I deserved those ultra-conservative, ultra-strict religious bodies.  I deserved every insult hurled my way.  But before I get into that, think one second with me, will ya?  I mean, maybe two seconds.  You see, I heard some jokes in jail, and they went like this:  What do you call a prostitute with a runny rose?  Full.  What did the leper say to the prostitute after they’d had sex?  Keep the tip.   And I know…now you all want to kill me just like everybody else because you can’t erase the memory of what you just read.  You can’t erase these mental images, just like that bush I saw in Playboy that I just didn’t want to erase, and my mother kept DEMANDING it.

Well, here’s the downlow:  I can’t erase what I did.  Nobody can.  I can learn to live with WHO I AM, and when a neighbor comes, basically screaming, taunting me, “You think you’re perfect!!”  And, well, what’s wrong with that?  And beyond, I’m happy with me, and I told him so.

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